Abaddon
by VoxNexus
Summary: Enter the pits with Oenomaus as he fights to numb himself and waits for impending death. It is here, that he reflects on his past life before being taken in by Titus Lentulus Batiatus and is it here, that he re-discovers the thrill and pain of merciless and bloodshed.


There was never any light in the pits. Nor the free flow of air that would sometimes chase away the scent of decay and that of death. In the depths of the pits, death clung to you, it would seep into your skin until it enveloped your bones. Here, death lined the sands, screaming and yelling for blood, begging for its fill in the shape of common men and women. It was as a looming mistress- death, it's scent, it's presence- waiting to receive the pleasures that her position granted her. And 'what' pleasures could possibly satisfy a woman as demanding as death?

Oenomaus knew. For he was near clad in the blood of her sacrifice, while the deafening thundering

of voices surrounding him intermingled into a singular beat of aggravated, hoarse chanting. Cheering on the senseless cavort of butchery being carried out in the darkened sands.

Oenomaus rolled away from an axe that bore down on him and jumped back up onto his feet, the chains in his hands, cool to the touch and clinking as he steadied his footing. His opponent, a thick necked German with glistening hard eyes, surged forward, his arms rippling as the weight of the axe, propelled the arc of its descent. Oenomaus dodged as the axe defaced the side of a wooden beam. With the Numidian's blood hammering through him, loud and harsh, provoked from the deluge of adrenaline that overtook him, he barely felt the sting of wooden splinters grazing and cutting in the back and side of his head.

He turned to face the brown-haired German, oblivious to the hot sliver of blood that trickled down the side of his face and marked his chin and neck. The man he stood up against faced the crowd and let out a powerful yell. The crowd replied with likewise enthusiasm, with a ferocity that reduced the walls to trembling bodies of wood threatening to break from the collective tide of voices rising up in appreciation for the show. Oenomaus calmly let his senses be swallowed by the cacophony and the

harsh scents that invaded the closed space. Despite being previously wounded, with the skin beneath his ribcage burning with the threat of infection, he did not feel an inkling of intimidation; not a moments notice of fear or regret.

In fact, there was something strangely peaceful to the place; a nostalgic aura. The sand cushioning his feet was becoming packed hard from blood and sweat. Just as it had been more than 12 years ago when he had fought in the dank gutters of Rome, as a Numidian slave. Fresh meat for the slavers to gawk and haggle over.

Now, he was free, but back to the sands that, as a boy, he thought he would die on. He charged forward, attacking the man from behind, jumping onto his back and bringing his chains right to the Briton's thick, vein corded throat. He could feel the man's Adam's apple shift and bob from underneath the tightening constriction of the chains. He began to grunt and wheeze, while swinging himself from side-to-side, trying to knock Oenomaus off of him.

Oenomaus tightened his hold on his opponent's waist, his legs pressing into the swerving blonde's side as he scrambled over the sand. Oenomaus let out a grunt and arched in, as he was slammed against the corner of a beam, the sharp wood splintering into the skin of his spine and pricking into him. He grimaced as he was thrown against it numerous times, but with each impact, his grip, on both waist and throat tightened. He huffed out a sluice of blood as he was pushed up against it again, in one final move, he pressed his palms on the side of the larger man's face and roughly jerked it to the side. The sound of cartilage snapping was met with the chinking of the chains in his hand when he moved. The man he had fought, collapsed face first into the sound. The crowd let out roars of approval, Oenomaus barely noticed their congratulatory shouts or felt his hand being raised as he was forced to bask. All he could hear was the pounding in his head and the angry palpitations of his heart beating in his chest.

He was a free man, yet here he was, fighting as if a slave and hoping to die as one.


End file.
